Medicine Man
by Littlebitsoflogic
Summary: The Doctor's been damaged, oh my! Fortunately for him, a certain holoprogrammer owes him his life. Unfortunately for Janeway, that programmer has come to repay the favor. Obscure pairing alert. Gift for Discord in the Garden.
1. Anyone but You

AN: This is for **Discord in the Garden**, as a birthday gift, and a response to a challenge of hers, posted late one night over AIM: "Stop lurking and write a fanfic." "Haha. You're fuuuunny, Sydney." "No. I'm serious. Deadly serious. It's my birthday tomorrow, I want a story. STV. Characters, your choice. Pairing: Obscure. GO!"

Well, **Discord**, I'm a few weeks late for your birthday. But here's that story. And here's your obscure-as-all-hell pairing (although, something tells me you're going to approve of it). And who cares that I'm a beginner at STV, right? Who cares that my first story in this fandom happens to be one you demanded? :P Jerk.

Pairing: Janeway/Zimmerman (Yes, folks, you read that right). Excuse me while I go laugh.

Characters: A few you'll recognize from Voyager, and a few carrots from Deep Space Nine and TNG.

Written in five parts.

(I get bonus points for using the name of that damned country in the original fiction story you're always going on about, Sydney)

* * *

><p>Part One: Anyone but You<p>

* * *

><p>When the <em>USS Wellings<em> left the side of the Cardassian transport vessel, she was limping and her crew was in poor spirits. They had been successful in protecting the other crew from the Breen, who had very little to argue with Starfleet over but much to _say _to the weakened Cardassia. _Wellings_ had taken thirteen casualties of its own, as well as damage to its shield generators and hall breaches on more than three decks. The gratitude from the Cardassian captain was unfulfilling under the circumstances.

Starfleet science vessels had been more appropriately armed since the Dominion War, but Kathryn Janeway was used to her ship having a little more bite, a little more kick, and a little more…

"We'll make it to Deep Space Nine in one piece, Captain," the familiar face of B'elanna Paris greeted her on the other end of the comm line. Her features were blurred by the smoke from the engine room, but still visible "but I can only give you warp two. It will take us three weeks at that speed…"

The coffee Janeway had been enjoying before this mess had run cold, but that didn't stop her from cradling the cup in her hands, "We've faced worse, B'Elanna. Have you managed to restore power to the turbolift?"

"Cantle's team is on it now. Power should be redirected to them in an hour. But that's not why I'm reporting…"

"Oh? Did cargo Bay Two vent again?" It was meant to supply levity to the situation. Cargo Bay Two had plagued all of engineering since the ship's commission. A perpetual weak spot in the hall had made its continual decompression a joke of sorts. Much like Chakotay's ability to destroy any shuttle he threatened to pilot…

The severe light in her engineer's eyes indicated that this was no time for jokes, "No, Captain. I've managed to establish communications between sickbay and engineering. Nurse Trai has treated all minor injuries and has started surgery on Krema…she's requesting Tom's assistance…"

"She's got it," Janeway paused, noticing that the weight still had not lifted from the conversation, and then spoke softly "what is it, B'elanna?"

"It's the Doctor, Captain, his program…it was...severely damaged in the attack."

* * *

><p>The atmosphere in the debriefing room was somber, and more than one of her senior staff were sporting bruises and lacerations they had stubbornly refused to have treated. Reports from tactical, security and Ops were no worse than she had expected, and all of the damage was repairable with the right equipment. It was the news being delivered by B'Elanna, who unsurprising supported the worst of the damage herself, that had dragged the mood down, "He'd transferred his program to the sickbay terminal, and when the Breen began to fire on us, one of their attacks blew the power coupling in the section. It fused most of the circuit relays," she stopped, uncharacteristically avoiding making eye contact with any of the others, "The Doctor was severely damaged. I won't know if we can salvage his program until we reach the space station. If what I can access of it doesn't degrade by then…"<p>

Janeway felt the telltale tightening in her chest, the one that accompanied any bad news regarding the wellbeing of her friends or crew and nodded, "Do what you can…" it was all she could seem to say.

'_Captain,' _the cool voice of Tel'Tar, the ship's Vulcan operations officer, came through the bridge's communication channel, providing an ample excuse to change the subject.

"Go ahead…"

'_A Cardassian Galor Class ship is approaching, they have hailed and wish to speak to you.' _

It was Tom who caught her eye, his tired curiosity matching her own. It wasn't the vessel they had assisted, which had been a simple freighter, what it wished to discuss with them was beyond her.

Janeway sighed,"Put them through."

A pale grey face, giddy with false kindness appeared on the small screen in the room.

Janeway stood and approached it, resting her forearm on the bulkhead and a hand on her hip, "…How can I help you, Garak?"

"You remember me, Captain, this pleases me more than you could ever know, but this isn't about how you can help me. It's about how I can help _you_. It seems that your ship's engines are damaged, that your shields are in terrible disrepair and that your…"

"Garak," she warned. They were not friends, but her mission in this region had brought them into contact more than once, unfortunately. He was not a disagreeable man, and his attempts to rebuild Cardassia while establishing stronger diplomatic ties with Bajor were commendable, but his smile was disconcerting and his duplicity a legend.

"In short, Captain, we are traveling along the same coordinates. News of your kindness has already spread, and Gul Temar, the captain of this fine ship, has agreed to tractor your vessel to Deep Space Nine, should you require it of us. It seems...it seems his daughter was aboard the freighter you assisted. He'd be much _obliged._"

She'd rather not agree, but the sooner they reach the space station the better, "…and we accept."

"Very good, Captain," this was genuine.

* * *

><p>"Captain Janeway, we weren't expecting you for another two months." The wide eyes of Colonel Kira were the first thing to greet her as she stepped through the airlock. It wasn't a sore sight, not at all, but she had suspected the commander of the station had better things to do than greet another Star Fleet officer on a routine repair.<p>

"We would have made a reservation, but our subspace communicators were destroyed in the skirmish…" Janeway watched as Tom and B'Elanna disappeared around one of the corners. Deep Space Nine was a labyrinth; she doubted she would see them again that day.

The Colonel fell in step beside her, "That's all right, Garak of all people sent a message ahead informing us that they would be arriving with a damaged Star Fleet vessel in tow. He wouldn't give me a name, but I have a few methods of figuring out information of my own. My crew will help you with anything you need, and we'll find quarters on the station for anyone who needs them."

It was an unfortunate turn of fate, Janeway had always thought, that she had made it back to Federation space after Captain Sisko's disappearance. She'd met him only briefly when _Voyager _was docked here. News about the Dominion War that they were able to receive in the Delta Quadrant, especially news from the admiralty, had always painted him in a glorified light. Tactical genius, religious symbol of the Bajorans and a pivotal player in the war...she would have liked to have had a cup of coffee with him. It was a loss, but the two or three times she had spent in Kira Nerys company had always been pleasant, and the Bajoran was never short of stories to tell about her Emissary.

But hearing stories was not why they were here. The repairs to _Wellings_ would be a simple matter, especially under B'Elanna's capable instruction. It was the repair of the Doctor that concerned her the most. He was still infuriating, still pompous, but he was still her friend and a damned good officer. Losing him now, after they'd all managed to settle in the Alpha Quadrant would be a shame. A painful one at that.

"Captain...Captain?"

"What?"

Kira smiled, all teeth showing, "I lost you for a moment."

"So you did," Janeway allowed her to take them around another turn, "When are we scheduled for those repairs?"

"Tomorrow, at o'six hundred hours. We had a couple civilian transports come in this morning that were badly damaged, all of our teams are working on them now," she explained. "It looks like the Breen vessel you fought off was dealing in piracy."

"Oh?"

"No worries, Captain, the Bajoran militia has broadened its security routes. We'll catch them, but until then, it looks like you and your crew have several hours to relax."

The Doctor's wellbeing was in B'Elanna's hands now. Janeway would check in with her in the evening, but until then, "I could use a strong cup of coffee."

"Quark makes a great cup of replicated raktachino...just don't tell him I said so."

* * *

><p>Ten hours later, Janeway found herself across her desk from a ghost.<p>

The resemblance was striking. The demeanor. The ego. No one could blame Janeway for mistaking the two. No one but Janeway herself (but she had been known to be rather self-deprecating as of late, so whether or not she blamed herself for anything was beside the point).

Dr. Zimmerman blinked at her from his seat. The Doctor's report from years before had painted the man grey and haggard, recovering from an illness that had nearly taken his life. So, to see the near exact replica of the hologram her crew knew and begrudgingly loved on the other side of her desk (brown hair, brown eyes, Starfleet uniform and a undeniable air of superiority) was not expected. Nor appreciated. He had interrupted one of her few conversations with Tuvok since their return to the Alpha Quadrant, cutting off her friend's report on Icheb's progress on Vulcan in doing so.

"You're what?" she asked, not bothering to hide the unhappy surprise.

"I'm here to help, Captain," he spoke to her as if he were dealing with a small child with a big attitude; a tone of voice she did not tolerate.

"_Help_?" they had only been docked at the space station for less than a day, the Doctor himself had only been damaged for a week. That wasn't enough time to get the message to Jupiter Station. Let alone enough time for him to travel the distance.

"Lieutenant Paris contacted me a week ago. She informed me that your EMH received damage during a confrontation. I was on Starbase 621, returning from a conference when I received the transmission. I debated over whether or not to help, I have a busy schedule after all, but the idea of leaving his care in the hands of a simple engineer was beyond reprehensible. Let's just say, Captain, that I owe him my life, unfortunately, and the sooner I can repay that debt, the better." The speech sounded rehearsed, as if he had taken a great deal of time trying to make it sound as if he had spent no time at all on it, and he continued to blink at her. His expression had become so bland near the end that even Tuvok would find it difficult not to be impressed.

Janeway actually found herself smiling. It wasn't friendly, that smile, nor did she want it to be.

"Dr. Zimmerman," she said lowly, her voice a mockery of amusement. Her time home had rejuvenated a part of her spirit she had feared lost after seven years in the Delta Quadrant, and it always did feel good to tap into the captain she had once been oh so long ago. She'd let B'Elanna deal with him...

Looking for all he world like he knew what she would say next, the man shifted in his seat and pursed his lips, nonplussed by her anger, "Yes, Captain Jane…"

"Get out of my ready room."

* * *

><p>End, Part One<p> 


	2. Tip the Scales

Because somethings in the Trek!Verse happen really slow, and others ridiculously fast. The plot thickens.

Briefly.

* * *

><p>Part Two: Tip the Scales<p>

* * *

><p>"I want him <em>gone<em>, Captain!"A very aggravated woman of half-Klingon persuasion was wearing a hole in the ready room floor. However, what she was doing wasn't quite pacing, more like a quick stomping to-and-fro.

It had been quite awhile since B'Elanna had had an explosion of anger this intense, and instead of watching wearily, Janeway peered on with something resembling amusement. Who had riled her up so badly shouldn't be in question, but one always had to ask, especially when docked at a space station with more than one possible suspect.

"_Who_, B'Elanna?"

"That…that…he's insulting! He's arrogant!" the engineer was talking with her hands again…with her fists, actually, and Janeway made a note to give her a wide birth for a couple more seconds, "I've always wondered where the Doctor got it from, but now I know!"

That answered it, "Dr. Zimmerman?"

"Ah! The very name makes me want to wrap my hands around something small and break it!"

Janeway took that as a yes and stood from her chair, approaching the younger woman with a great deal of care and self-preservation. When they were within reach of one another, and B'Elanna made no sudden, angry movements, the captain wrapped her hands around each of the half-Klingon's biceps, holding on tightly in case the next statement threw her into another rage, "You invited him."

"And now I wish I'd shoved him through an airlock," despite the growl, B'Elanna was deflating, much of her anger dissipating into a mild annoyance. "Captain, he refuses to allow me anywhere near the Doctor's program. How am I supposed to do my job if…" she trailed off at Janeway's patient expression, "_What?"_

Treading carefully, Janeway gave B'Elanna's arms a gentle squeeze but did not release them, "I'm sure Dr. Zimmerman has his reasons. For all we know, he believes that, since the Doctor is his creation, he is personally responsibility for his care."

"But I've been the one present for all of the Doctor's 'scrapes' and 'bruises'" the engineer sneered. "Look, Captain, I may not have programmed the Doctor, but I know his idiosyncrasies better than he knows them himself, let alone _Dr. Zimmerman_. I should at least be able to supervise!"

A bit of warm amusement bloomed in Janeway's chest. It was threatening to make her cough in order to hide her laughter. The engineer was jealous, actually_ jealous_. Despite her poor relationship with the EMH, for better or for worse, she had been _his_ doctor for the last nine and a half years. Having someone else step in and interfere with that…well, let's just say that Dr. Zimmerman was fortunate to still have a nose in one piece.

"If you'd like, I can speak to him on your behalf," Janeway would rather not, five minutes with the man had been enough, but this was for the Doctor's wellbeing.

"Make sure that you do," B'Elanna pulled her arms free and strode toward the door, stopping as they opened to turn and give her captain an apologetic glance, "Please."

"Of course."

"Thank you."

When the doors hissed shut, Janeway rubbed her forehead with her fingertips and walked back toward her desk, "Don't thank me yet."

* * *

><p>The man in question had chosen to use Deep Space Nine's medical bay as his laboratory. Whether or not this was to avoid the wrath of B'Elanna or to make the Chief Medical Officer of the station uncomfortable was debatable. When Janeway entered the place in question, the expressions on the faces of the Bajoran medical staff were nothing short of bewilderment. When Julian Bashir appeared out of nowhere to greet her, he was fighting a losing battle against a growing migraine and hiding his irritation.<p>

If she remembered correctly, it had been Dr. Zimmerman who had exposed this upstart's genetic engineering to Starfleet.

"Captain Janeway, it's good to see you again."

She really doubted that. The last time they had spoken it had been during a routine maintenance check at the station, some three months ago. He'd wanted to give a physical to every member of her crew, and she'd all but laughed in his face with a, "We have a Doctor, a damned good one at that. I'd suggest you let him do his job…"

"I hear your laboratory has been commandeered…"

"Of course. Dr. Zimmerman barricaded himself there last night. In fear for his life, I believe, and muttering the strangest things about your Chief Engineer."

Some of the boyishness had seeped back into his expression, and Janeway found that she may have judged him too quickly, "Let's just say that they've had a difference in opinion over how to salvage the Doctor's programing."

Bashir folded his hands behind his back and squinted, "Yes, I believe I heard it through the bulkheads. If I'm not mistaken, Dr. Zimmerman said something about holo-technology being too delicate for Klingon hands, and Lieutenant Paris threatened to do something with those hands that I just cannot allow in my sickbay, unfortunately. He's in the lab right now, as a matter of fact, if you'd like to try to reason with him…"

"If that's possible…"

"…Ah," he said with wisdom a man his age shouldn't have, "if there is one thing we should have learned over the last several years, despite the differences in our journeys, it is that nothing is impossible."

Janeway quirked a brow, "I'll hold you to that."

With a soft chuckle, the doctor left her to it. His humor was not unappreciated, but she still preferred the Doctor's sarcasm and biting remarks to Bashir's soft-spoken barbs and witticisms.

When she was alone, Janeway wondered about cautiously, unfamiliar with this sickbay, until she found the laboratory in question.

She watched Zimmerman from the doorway, her hands tucked against her hips as she did so, and an expression of contemplation on her face. The programmer was grumbling under his breath, a data pad in either hand and a deeply furrowed brow. He could be her Doctor, if only a little older in appearance, but the color of his turtleneck was gold and he wore a white lab coat over his uniform. There was also a markable lack of opera in the room, which was something she knew the EMH enjoyed listening to while working.

"Don't just stand there, Captain," he didn't look at her, but something told Janeway that more of his attention was focused on her than he was letting on, "I can't work when people are…hovering."

"Excuse me," she said, with more sarcasm than necessary, while leaving the doorway of the lab in order to approach him.

At his sharp glance in her direction, Janeway relented and held her hands up in surrender, "Any progress?"

"Yes, in fact. I finally managed to get your engineer to leave me alone."

"I wouldn't call that progress…"

For the first time since speaking, the programmer took the time to fully look at her. There was a seriousness there that lacked the melodrama she had read he was more than capable of, "I would. Look, Captain, I'm sure nine years with that woman has convinced you of her genius, and she may as well be one for all that I know, but your EMH's programming has been embedded in a giant _chunk_ of fused circuitry and relays. Retrieving his vital information is a delicate process, and her usual methods just aren't going to work this time."

Her arms crossed her chest, "All right, I accept that _for now_, but let me say this: B'Elanna Paris has intimate knowledge of the workings of his program. He's evolved since you designed him, and her insight may be a valuable asset in the process."

The suspicion in his lingering gaze reminded her that, until very recently, this man had been a recluse. His only communication outside of the holograms he programmed was Reginald Barclay and a half-Betazoid counselor. Whether his seclusion was a symptom of some deeper condition of inferiority or superiority, Janeway didn't have the training to know, but what she did know was that his inter-personal skills were severely lacking.

"Think about it."

Zimmerman turned away from her, picking up his work in the process. When she was absolutely certain he'd just ended the conversation, that's when he suprised her by speaking, "All right, but she follows my orders."

"You do outrank her," was Janeway's response, but she was unable to stop the smile of victory from spreading slowly to her eyes.

"Now…if you'll excuse me…"

"You have work to do…of course."

* * *

><p>"Captain Janeway, what a coincidence seeing you here."<p>

The slithery tones of a familiar Cardassian drifted toward her from behind, lofted above the comfortable sounds of life being lead on the promenade. If she were honest with herself, she would admit that spending and hour with that Ferengi, Quark, would be far more enjoyable than spending a minute in the company of Garak, but she stopped and allowed him to catch up with her.

"What do you want?"

"Only the pleasure of your company…and your ear…"

Janeway eyed him, from the feigned innocence in his discomfiting blue eyes to the way he pressed his fingertips together in a frustrating show of false timidness, "All right, but it's going to have to be over a cup of coffee. Strong coffee, and not from Quark's."

"Of course, Captain. There's always place to sit at the replimat," Garak gestured toward a large alcove that must have once been the Cardassian version of a station mess hall. Wasting little time, he led her to a replicator, where she ordered a coffee (just coffee, nothing Klingon about it) and quirked her brow at his choice of drink.

"Root beer?"

"A foul beverage…but it grows on you," much like his simpering smile.

"I'm sure it does," Janeway took a seat at a nearby table, pleased when he opted to take the one opposite her, rather than one of the two on either side of her. What did you want to discuss?"

Several layers of duplicity faded from the Cardassian's eyes, and he held her in regard for a moment before responding, "I suppose I could skip the insipid small talk just this once. Have you heard anything interesting about the Breen vessel that attacked the Cardassian freighter you so gallantly protected?"

"Colonel Kira told me that they were suspected of piracy."

"_No._ Well, yes. And no. It's never really as simple as that with the Breen," the Cardassian spy-cum-tailor-cum-terrorist-cum-diplomat took a tiny sip of his Root Beer and gestured for her to do the same with her coffee.

Janeway eyed him wearily but did so, certain that he couldn't have poisoned her drink, "Go on, don't stop there. I'm hanging on every word."

"No need to be so sarcastic, Captain. What I'm about to tell you is_ very_ important."

As she took another sip from her coffee (a wonderful blend, if a little bland from the replication process) she gestured for him to continue. From what she had read of the reports out of Deep Space Nine, the Cardassian had provided many essential details when Captain Sisko asked…and even when he didn't. Why he'd come to her was yet to be determined, but the least she could do was keep an open ear.

His gaze skirted left then right then left again, and he leaned in to speak softly, "The Breen attacks in Cardassian space are only a symptom of the problem, Captain. Conveniently, for those involved, the skirmishes look like leftover aggressions from the war, but there are certain political elements that Starfleet is overlooking."

"As in…"

The smile he graced her with made her skin crawl, "As in the current discourse on Cardassia Prime to submit an application for membership to the Federation. But it's not just about Breen fearing the power of the Federation once Cardassia joins…" he saw the gears churning in her eyes and cut her off before she could even begin, "Because we will join, Captain, it's only a matter of time."

"Your confidence is…reassuring," but it wasn't. There was no love lost between Kathryn Janeway and the fallen Cardassian Empire. Her internal feud with them did not run as deep as much the rest of the brass in Starfleet, but it was still there, sometimes festering, sometimes not. Some would say that it depended on the weather, really.

"I'm sure it is. What your superiors don't know, _yet_, is that the Federation Ambassador was killed returning from a conference three days ago. It will look like the work of the Breen, but it wasn't. There are many on Cardassia who seek the power we once had or who fear what accession would mean. These are not members of the current government, but as long as Starfleet keeps sending us men and women whose hands were dirtied during the Dominion war, the turbulence between the Legate…the unofficial Cardassian voice…will only get worse."

She saw where this was going, "And fortunately for us, you know just the people to solve the problem."

"Precisely, Captain! And so do you! What we need is someone strong, someone clever, someone who's had enough experience with terrorist activities to spot the…"

"I hope you're not talking about the former Maquis members of my crew..."

"I want to stop a war, Captain, not start one. Who we're looking for may or may not have had experience with them, but they were never really Maquis..."

There was a stirring of suspicion in her; one that told her she wasn't going to like this, "It sounds like you already have someone in mind."

His grin brightened, and he leaned a little closer.

* * *

><p>"So it's true, then?"<p>

Admiral Ross's worn but kind face greeted her question with a apologetic nod, "It seems that Mr. Garak is right again, Captain. What I need to know is whether or not you're taking his suggestions seriously."

A deep breath filled the growing silence between them, and Janeway rubbed the bridge of her nose, "I don't know why, but I do. Perhaps its because Colonel Kira paid me a visit yesterday evening. We discussed the matter. She's no fan of his either, but she's worked with him before and holds his counsel on these matters in high esteem. It may all be a farce, or it might be as serious as he paints it to be, but all I know is that I have three dead crewmen and a fourth in programming limbo because of this."

Ross considered her words and nodded in approval, "The last time we underestimated the Cardassians, they brought the Dominion into our backyard. I'd like nothing more than to prevent that from happening again."

Janeway sighed with visible relief, "You're submitting my proposal for the new Ambassador, then?"

His smile was kind. She'd met him only four times before, but each time had reminded her that he wasn't like the stereotypical admiral. He was personable, wielded power with more grace than most, and sensible, "I already have. The committee approved. All that's left to do is deliver the new Ambassador his orders."

"I'd like to do that, if you don't mind. He deserves to hear it from a friend…especially since that friend just hung him out to dry."

"Of course. Your crew is in line for leave anyway. I'll just run it through Command."

"Thank you, Admiral."

His nod was brief, "Ross, out."

Closing her computer, Janeway puffed out a breath of air and ran a hand through her hair, "Tuvok, old friend, I hope you can forgive me for this."

A moment later, after her fill of staring at the ready room ceiling, she tapped her combadge, "Janeway to Commander Paris."

Tom's pleasant voice filled the line, the background noise suggesting that he was enjoying himself at Quarks, "Yes, Captain?"

She tapped her fingers on her desk, and rolled her eyes once before responding, "I need you to find suitable quarters for Dr. Zimmerman. We'll be leaving Deep Space Nine tomorrow at o'eight hundred hours. He's coming with us."


End file.
